Strength
by Zebrastreifen
Summary: Sometimes you feel weak for doing what is actually a sign of strength ... TRIGGER WARNING: contains non-explicit mentions of rape and fear.


**Strength**

"Be strong enough to stand alone,

smart enough to know when you need help, and brave enough to ask for it."

unknown

* * *

„Hotchner."

Emily hesitated. Why had she dialed his number? Why had she dialed anyone's number at all? She was not ready yet – would she ever be?

"S-s-sorry. Wrong number. I... Good night!" she stumbled, hoping that Hotch had not recognized her voice.

"Emily?" _*SHIT!*_ "Emily? What happened? Where are you?"

"Noth-..." She coughed, trying to cover the shakiness in her voice. "Nothing, I'm fine."

"Are you sure?"

"YES!" Emily replied, way too loud. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to..."

Hotch sighed. "Emily, something _is_ wrong. It's two o'clock in the morning. Please tell me!"

His voice was soft and calm, without any lick of accusation.

_Two o'clock!_

She had had no idea how late it was before she had picked up her phone, but obviously, Hotch had.

Before she could make things even worse, Emily quickly disconnected and removed the battery to kill her cell phone.

Trembling like a leaf, she hid under her sheets, unable to stop sobbing.

*What the hell were you thinking? You can't tell him! You can't tell _anyone_! You have to get through this alone. You'll make it, Prentiss!*

Needless to say, Emily could not convince herself.

Yes, she was strong – strong enough to force herself to get up every morning. Strong enough to do her job. Strong enough to carry it off well when reading autopsy reports of sexually abused women. Strong enough to consequently cover the dark bags under her eyes.

It would have been exaggerated to say that Emily was not sleeping well. In fact, she was not sleeping at all. Caffeine and concealer had helped her to get through the day – and the next day and the day after that.

But in the night, when she was alone – all alone – she knew that inside, she was broken.

Secretly, she wished for someone to look underneath her mask. For someone to keep asking the same questions again and again until she finally told the truth. She knew that it was not enough to keep persuading herself that everything would be fine. Nothing was fine at all.

As soon as she was alone, she started at every sound, always in fear _he_ could be back again. She spent hours locked up in her bathroom, somehow being comforted by its' tininess – no one could possibly hide anywhere. Curled up into a ball between the bath tub and the sink, she felt safe – at least for a few moments.

But when she closed her eyes, _he_ was back again. And as soon as Emily could feel his dirty hands again, she jumped to her feet and hit the shower – always fully clothed- , letting hot water burn her skin until she didn't feel _his touch_ anymore.

Then she always crouched on the floor again, her clothes soaking wet. Emily never dared to put some dry clothes on, always in fear that _he_ could somehow steal into the bathroom while was getting dressed. Emily forced herself not to think about what would happen again if _he _caught her naked.

Vulnerable. Alone. Again...

But even with all the lamps turned on, there was some kind of darkness Emily was not able to get rid of.

Fortunately, the team had not had a case that would have required sharing rooms with another team member. Emily had no idea how to explain her nocturnal behavior to a roommate. Emily knew that the nightmares would come as soon as her eyelids drooped.

She _had to_ stay awake! She _had to_ be strong.

*Only a few more hours until sunrise, Prentiss.*

A few more hours until the night and all its' shadows would fade away.

*I will stay in bed. I will not spend the rest of the night cowered on the bathroom floor! I can do that. I am strong. I will stay in bed...*

Emily repeated these words in her head over and over again, hoping this mantra would calm her down.

It didn't work.

Nothing worked.

Still trembling, Emily grabbed her cell phone again. Put in the battery. Turned it on.

The display read "14 missed calls".

Hotch.

Before she could think about an excuse to tell him tomorrow, the phone rang again. Number fifteen.

Emily took a deep breath and pressed the "accept"-button.

"Emily."

Hotch sounded relieved.

"Please just leave me alone!"

Her voice was scarcely audible and still shaky.

"No, I won't. You don't have to go through this alone, Emily. I'm outside your apartment. Let me in! Please!"

"I... I can't!"

"Yes, you can. Please let me help you!"

Emily didn't respond.

"If you're not ready to let me in yet, I will accept that. But I won't leave. I'll be waiting here."

He hesitated. "You're safe now, Emily. I will not hurt you. And I won't let anyone else hurt you again."

"You... you know, what happened, don't you?"

Hotch sighed. "I fear so."

Emily took a deep breath. "Will you report it to- ..."  
"No. I am here as your friend, Emily, not as your boss. Whatever you tell me will stay between the two of us."

Emily felt certain that Hotch would keep his promise. She knew she could trust him, knew he would never force her to do anything she was not ready for, but nevertheless, Emily was scared, scared that opening the door would make everything real.

She knew, if she let Hotch inside her apartment, she would have to tell _everything_ - not because _he_ would force her to, but because she herself knew that she needed to talk about it. She would probably end up in fetal curl, unable to stop crying.

She always appeared strong on the surface, but letting her walls down only once would change everything. As long as she forced herself to keep everything on the inside, she was still able to do her job, to function - only superficially, of course, but superficial functioning was better than not functioning at all, wasn't it? Even if Hotch kept his promise of not telling anyone what happened, _he_ would know. He would be concerned about her, would watch over her, would go easy on her ... in a word, he would treat her like a victim. And once that happened, Emily's walls would finally break down, because there was no need to keep up appearances any longer. It was only the necessity of seeming okay on the surface that kept her from falling apart... didn't it?

Or did it only make her hide behind her mask to cover the fact that she _already was_ _inwardly_ disintegrated?

"Are you still there?" Hotch's voice forced her back to reality.

Emily sighed. She had been wrong: Opening the door wouldn't make it real

- it was already real, no matter what she did...

Yes, opening the door would definitely change things, but aside from the fact that she would highly probable break down in front of her boss, maybe, _maybe_ she would be able to sleep again tonight - and that was worth it!


End file.
